Silver Tongue Silmaril Award Ceremony 2021

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The day of the big party has arrived!

The party tree is hung with streamers and strands of tiny lanterns, giving the area beneath its wide branches a warm, magical glow.

Tables have been set out and covered in white, homespun cotton cloths, and only the best dishes and silverware have been laid.

Guests have been arriving all day, with the help of special InterFiction badges that have been lent specifically for this purpose of traveling between realms. It is the fictional event of the year, after all, of course they have a reporter or two covering it!

A woman can be seen dashing up a small path toward the familiar round, green door.

“Bilbo!” she knocks frantically. “Bilbo!”

The door opens and a curly-headed hobbit peers out suspiciously, then yanks her inside, slamming the door behind her.

“Frodo, where is your uncle?” the woman demands.

“He is in the back room putting the finishing touches on his speech. Not to worry,” Frodo assures her.

“He’d better hurry up,” she says, peering over Frodo’s shoulder. “Everyone is here, and they’re getting a little restless.”

Frodo takes her by the hand and gives her a solemn stare. “Don’t worry, Jenelle,” he says. “Everything will be fine.”

Jenelle slumps a little. “I hope so. I’m just… I’m starting to get a reputation, you know? I mean, it all started the first year, when I hosted the Most Heartwrenching Death ceremony… which ended up being a massive disaster and spoiler-fest! Then I hosted the Nefarious Villains, who rampaged out into the night and nearly started an Interfictional War! After that, I mean, the Least Competent Henchmen ceremony went okay… but Ugluk did threaten the entire audience….”

Bilbo emerges from the back room, holding a stack of papers. “My dear girl,” he says in a sort of fatherly way, “you pulled off the Wisest Counselor award ceremony stunningly. And as I recall, the Faithful Friend ceremony last year—in the middle of a pandemic, I might add—brought a happy tear to many an eye. You have nothing to worry about. Now… shall we get down to the party?”

Jenelle takes a deep breath. “You’re right. Thank you, Bilbo. I just… sometimes it’s a lot of pressure, you know?”

“Makes one kind of want to disappear, eh?” Bilbo gives her a wink and she chuckles a bit. “Come along, then!”

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The air is buzzing with conversation as Jenelle steps up onto the stage. The guests quiet as they see that the party is beginning.

“Friends and characters,” Jenelle begins. “It is my great privilege tonight just to be here, beneath the great Party Tree in the Shire. But I am also pleased to introduce the man of the hour, the Silverest Tongue of Silver Tongues, who once riddled with a dragon and lived to tell the tale… Bilbo Baggins!”

The audience lets out a great cheer as the little hobbit who started it all steps out onto the stage, his cheerful face beaming.

“I am so pleased to see all your smiling faces tonight,” Bilbo says expansively. “And while I believe that I deserve neither the title nor the honor, I am pleased to be here once again to bestow this year’s Silver Tongue Silmaril.”

He pulls a piece of paper from his pocket and looks it over.

“Forgive me in advance if my numbers don’t add up perfectly, I am going to round up. In fifth place, with 4% of the vote, Artham Wingfeather of the Wingfeather Saga!”

A man strides up onto the stage and the crowd gasps a little when they realize that he has wings and that his fingers end in talons. He looks out at the crowd a little self-consciously, then bows his head to Bilbo.

“Artham, my good friend,” Bilbo greets him. “And how has your poetry been coming along these days?”

Artham gives a tentative smile. “Passing good, passing good,” he replies. “It helps that there are fewer villains lately. But it is always a struggle, you know, to find the time.”

“I’m sure your niece and nephews keep you busy,” Bilbo agrees. “Nephews are a blessing, but they can keep a body from getting work done.” Frodo’s head pops up and he lets out an exclamation of dismay.

Artham gives a wider grin. “True, my friend.”

Bilbo looks down at his paper. “In fourth place, with 10% of the vote, one Fflewddur Fflam from the Prydain Chronicles!”

A young man leaps onto the stage, a harp bouncing against his back. He smiles out at the crowd and shakes Bilbo’s hand. “Very pleased to be here, very pleased indeed,” he says. “And not at all bothered to have come in fourth place—” TWANG a harp string breaks with a loud, ringing call and the young man winces. Pulling the harp around, he begins stringing a new one. “Well, yes, ahem. What I meant to say was that I am honored to be here at all, and that winning isn’t everyth—” TWANG! Another string snaps and Fflewddur jerks his hand back and puts a finger in his mouth. “Yes. What I mean to say is… well… it is humbling. And I won’t deny I wanted to win. But when all is said and done, it’s the journey that matters most, and the friends we make along the way, eh?” He eyes the harp as though he is talking solely to it and not the audience any longer. The strings remain still, and Fflewddur brightens and steps aside.

Bilbo gives him an odd look. “In third place, with 15% of the vote, we have The Florid Sword from The Wingfeather Saga!”

“HA HA!” A mysterious figure clad all in black leaps from the rafters, turning an elegant flip in midair and landing gracefully on the platform. His dark hair flips in the breeze, and the whites of his eyes gleam out at the audience. “Flayed by my blade! Stunned by my steel! Awash with admiration at the turns of my tongue! My opponents flee when they hear, but my fans cheer! And I am honored to be here.” He gives a bow, his dark cloak fluttering around him, then he brandishes his sword, and crosses the platform to stand by the others.

Bilbo nods slightly. “In second place, with 32% of the vote, we have Athelas from The City Between series!”

An elegantly casual middle-aged man in a tweed suit-coat steps up onto the stage. He moves with a deadly grace as he shakes Bilbo’s hand and glances out at the crowd. “Dear me,” he says, a mildly amused quirk to his lips. “I’m not sure Zero would approve of all this attention… but I suppose what he doesn’t know can’t hurt him, eh?” He peers out at the crowd. “I don’t suppose there’s any tea at this party? Earl gray, perhaps?”

The crowd roars with enthusiasm and laughter as Athelas takes his place next to the Florid Sword.

Bilbo shakes his head with a smile. “There is plenty of tea, of the Earl Gray variety, of course… our hostess DID know you’d be here, after all. And in first place, the winner of this year’s Silver Tongue Silmaril, is WESTLEY from THE PRINCESS BRIDE!”

Another man in all black leaps onto the stage, his sword flashing. “I’ll beat you each apart! I’ll beat you both together!” he shouts.

The Florid Sword steps forward, his own blade glinting in the lantern light. The two men clash, their swords ringing in the sudden silence. The audience looks on as the two swordsmen dance back and forth across the stage. Athelas watches, a glint of amusement in his eye, but he gives the impression that he could step in and take both fighters easily if he wanted to. Artham looks mildly distressed, and Fflewddur strums his harp aimlessly as though not sure whether to jump into the fight or write a song about it.

“Gentlemen, please!” Bilbo exclaims. “There is no need…”

Two swords go flying into the night, thudding in perfect tandem as they strike their mark in the same knot on the old party tree. The two men grin from behind their masks, shake hands with each other, and give a bow to the crowd, who begin to applaud wildly at the display of skill.

Bilbo shakes his head. “You had me going,” he admits. He glances at Jenelle, who is calmly smiling at him from the side of the stage. “You were in on this?”

She shrugs. “Got to keep things interesting.”

“Well, it certainly was that!” Bilbo steps forward, raising the Silmaril above his head for all to see. “It is my honor to bestow this honor.” He slips the Silmaril over Westley’s head.

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Westley stares down at the Jewel with a slightly awed expression. “Thank you,” he says to Bilbo. Then he looks out at the crowd. “Thank you,” he says to his fans.

Then he steps quietly into line with the others and gestures at his companions without a word. The crowd goes wild as they cheer for these five worthy finalists… Silver Tongues all.

From where she is standing off the to side, Jenelle gives a pleased little grin. Some may have wondered why Westley would even be in the running for this particular award. But she is not surprised. After all, his quick talking has gotten him out of several close calls, his swift tongue has stalled an enemy until his strength could return or friends could arrive, and he’s battled wits with a Sicillian and won.

But sometimes, it’s not the number of words you use… but how you use them that marks the silverest tongue of all.

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And that’s all for the first award ceremony! But there are plenty more to come, Dear Reader! I’ll post links below to each of the Award Ceremonies as they appear over the next two weeks, so you can check back here each day to see where to head next as the festivities continue! Thanks for attending the Silver Tongue Ceremony!

Tomorrow we’ll be heading over to DJ’s blog to see who is the Strangest Character of them all this year!

Make sure you grab a pastry (or a cup of tea) before you leave, and I’m sure Frodo would be happy to give you a tour of the Shire if you ask!

Here is the schedule:

Silmarillion AwardsJenelle Schmidt32 Comments